Chapter 3: Alfonso, Prince of Asturias

Gazing at the canopy of his bed for what seemed like an eternity, Miguel found himself deeply entangled in profound contemplation, grappling with the enigmatic circumstances that had enveloped him.

He was unequivocally certain that he had perished in that harrowing car crash, and yet, here he stood, awakening within the confines of an unfamiliar body - an event that defied the bounds of scientific plausibility.

Nevertheless, an insistent nagging sensation in the depths of his bones and an instinctual gut feeling urged him to accept the unsettling reality as a genuine and logically viable revelation.

It was as if he had been transported into an enigmatic dream realm, where coherence and rationale lost their grip.

With a perplexed shake of his head, he resolved to rise from the bed and embark on a quest for answers to the myriad questions that flooded his consciousness.

Steadily, he rose to his feet, albeit with a degree of unsteadiness, and navigated towards the door. In doing so, his gaze was drawn to a mirror adorning the corner of his room, which inadvertently reflected his own image back at him.

This was the first time he had beheld his face.

A gasp escaped his lips as the mirror unveiled an unfamiliar countenance. With its sharp brow line, pallid complexion, and square jaw, it belonged to a remarkably handsome young man, boasting resplendent purple hair and a lean, well-defined musculature.

Yet, the person that stared back at him was a stranger. He was unequivocally certain that the visage in the mirror belonged to Alfonso, Prince of Asturias, and yet, he was Miguel.

Without a doubt, he had assumed the identity of another, but the alteration in his appearance was nothing short of drastic.

"What's happening to me?" Miguel wondered aloud, retreating in fear, allowing his body to collapse back onto the bed. His gaze transfixed on the ceiling, he mulled over the prospect of having somehow undergone a body swap.

"But...that's not possible. I died in a car accident, so there's no other entity to be swapped with. None of this makes sense," he murmured to himself, grappling with the unfathomable enigma that besieged him.

In an attempt to quell the mounting anxieties, he shook his head, resolving instead to gather his bearings and focus on unraveling the perplexing situation he found himself in. To do so, he knew he must retrace the path that led him to this bewildering juncture.

Once again, he rose to his feet, determined in his stride as he made his way towards the door.

As the door yielded, a vast hallway, adorned with a sumptuous red carpet, unfolded before him, leading towards a majestic double door situated at the distant end.

Miguel found himself momentarily flustered, as the sheer scale and grandeur of the place appeared to rival that of a regal palace. And then, realization dawned upon him, "Wait...this is a palace."

As he gingerly advanced his foot, a cascade of hushed voices emanated from the direction of the double door, piquing Miguel's curiosity.

With utmost care, he strode to the end of the hallway and positioned himself discreetly behind the door, allowing him to eavesdrop on the conversation unfolding within.

"So, His Highness Alfonso is awake now? What a relief. The people are desperate to know his health condition," remarked a mature, masculine voice, tinged with an authoritative undertone.

"I'm sorry...but dear brother is not yet stable enough to meet anyone," responded a familiar feminine voice, belonging to none other than his sister, Beatriz.

"I see...but it's a good thing that he is awake now. The people of Spain are looking for a man who would lead them."

"My brother is going to become a king?"

"According to the line of succession, yes, he will."

As Miguel absorbed the implications of their conversation, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and bewildered.

Alfonso will ascend the throne of Spain?

Memories of Alfonso, Prince of Asturias, surged within him, providing a chronology from which he could draw conclusions.

Without delay, he delved into the reservoir of Alfonso's memories, meticulously organizing and sorting the information by relevance and significance.

Born in 1907, Alfonso, Prince of Asturias, was the eldest son of King Alfonso XIII of Spain and Victoria Eugenie of Battenberg. As the heir apparent, he had several siblings, including Beatriz, Infante Jaime, Infanta Maria Cristina, Infante Juan, Infante Gonzalo, and Infanta Maria de las Mercedes. However, historical records indicated that Alfonso would tragically perish in a car accident at the age of 31. (That's what history says).

Reflecting on Alfonso's mischievous nature, particularly his near-death encounter with drowning, Miguel couldn't help but find it a bit ludicrous. Nonetheless, he faintly remembered a moment in Alfonso's memories, hinting that someone might have deliberately pushed him into the water.

The weight of this revelation proved overwhelming for Miguel.

He paused to take a deep breath before continuing his mental expedition.

Regarding Alfonso's personality, he was often perceived as a playboy prince, carefree and childishly playful, frequently engaging with women and even sneaking out of the palace to enjoy life without the burden of royal duties.

His passions encompassed fencing, playing musical instruments, and singing - a stark contrast to Miguel's own interests.

Alfonso's strained relationship with his father stemmed from his rebellious and insouciant demeanor. The king believed that strict discipline was necessary to instill a sense of responsibility in Alfonso and prepare him for his future role as the crown prince. Furthermore, Alfonso once vocalized his aversion to becoming a king, leading to heated arguments with his father, leaving them with a tenuous bond.

Moreover, Alfonso harbored disdain for his father upon discovering the mismanagement of the country's social welfare, public order, and finances, despite the prince's own extravagant spending habits.

"Such a foolish prince," Miguel thought, gaining valuable insights into Alfonso's character and the reasons behind the king's disappointment.

Considering the world's historical era, he deduced that it resembled the early twentieth century. Alfonso's memories provided glimpses of automobiles with designs from the 1910s and 1920s, as well as electronic appliances that paralleled present-day technologies.

As the realization dawned on him, Miguel's mind spun. This was indeed time travel to the past, as Alfonso, Prince of Asturias, was an integral part of Spain's history.

Gradually, Miguel began to accept the surreal truth of his transmigration to the past.

"Very well, I'll come by again once he is fully recovered. Please send my regards to His Highness, your highness."

The fading sound of footsteps on the carpeted floor signified the visitor's departure, leaving Miguel to contemplate his extraordinary situation further.

Meanwhile, the sound of another pair of footsteps approached, alerting Miguel to the need for haste.

"Fuck..." Miguel hurriedly made his way back to his room, swiftly leaping onto his bed.

Beatriz entered the room and approached the bed, her eyes widening as she noticed her dear brother panting heavily and perspiring.

"Brother, are you feeling unwell again?" she inquired with concern.

"N-no, I'm fine. I was just taking a walk to exercise my body and ended up overexerting myself," Miguel fibbed, attempting to hide his true intentions.

Beatriz's worry intensified. "Dear brother, you can't walk properly yet. What were you thinking?" She hurriedly fetched a glass of water, ready to offer aid.

However, Miguel gestured to stop her. "I can do it myself."

"No, you're not allowed to move around just to exercise. I'll have the doctor come to see you; you might worsen your condition," Beatriz insisted, determined to ensure her brother's well-being.

"Please... don't. I'm already feeling better now. I don't need to see a doctor. I can take care of myself. With just a day or two of rest, I'll be okay," Miguel implored, employing gestures reminiscent of Alfonso's behavior in such situations.

Beatriz sighed in response, ultimately giving in. "Fine! But promise me that you'll behave yourself until you're completely recovered," she demanded.

"I promise. I promise," Miguel affirmed, nodding earnestly.

Her smile returned. "I'm going to bring you your lunch." She turned on her heels and exited the room.

"What a pain in the ass..." Miguel muttered under his breath, bringing the glass of water to his lips and draining it. "I hope I didn't break character."

In the midst of his predicament, Miguel grasped the gravity of his situation. To avoid arousing suspicion, he must embody Alfonso's persona, so those close to him won't detect the change that had transpired within him.

That meant he had to play the part of a playboy prince, strolling the streets and bringing home women at every opportunity. However, Miguel decided that some adjustments were necessary to the prince's behavior.

After all, his life was at stake here, surrounded by a hostile world where certain individuals posed a threat to the Spanish throne's successor.

Though Miguel remained unsure of their ultimate intentions, he was determined to thwart their malevolent plans. He knew he had to tread carefully, navigating the treacherous waters of court intrigue and royal politics, all while safeguarding his newfound identity. His very existence depended on it.